Californium by R. Dean Johnson Read Free Book Online

leave . . . ,” she says and waits.
    â€œDon’t dance,” I finish.
    â€œAnd when it is the time to dance . . .”
    â€œDon’t leave,” I say.
    Edie tilts her head sideways. “Ah, that’s sweet, but I’ve really got to go.”
    We both burst out laughing, and Edie gives me a little wave as she steps away.
    Keith’s smiling until we turn and head for the closest trash can. “What was so funny?”
    â€œIt’s a math joke.”
    â€œThere’s no such thing,” he says, and then just stops and stares. For a second I wonder if Treat is here, but Keith mouths,
Astrid.
He forces the cups in his hand onto me, then turns around and walks away.
    Astrid gets to the trash can right when I’m tossing in the cups. “We have to stop meeting like this,” she says.
    â€œYeah,” I say and nod once like that means something.
    She smiles, drops in a stack of cups, smacks her hands together like she’s dusting them off, and walks away, the bandana swaying as she goes.
    Keith’s waiting for me by the big exit doors. “She smiled at you.”
    â€œTo keep from laughing.”
    â€œNo.” Keith shakes his head. “She saw you in your cool new clothes.”
    He must be razzing me. “No one said we looked cool.”
    â€œWe talked to girls. We danced with girls.” Keith squints the way he did when Mr. Krueger asked him what
Fr
stood for. “That’s what we want, isn’t it? The experiment is a success.”

Hey, Neighbor!
    O ne of the things I tell Uncle Ryan in the next letter is how having a huge friend with a Mohawk will probably come in handy at school, but maybe it isn’t the best idea to let my parents meet him.
Especially my dad,
I write.
You know how he is when things don’t go to plan, and I don’t think he planned on me having weird friends.
I write about the Howdy Dance and feeling stupid in front of Astrid because Uncle Ryan’s told me before that we all do stupid things sometimes. “Me more than anybody,” he said once, and I remind him of that.
    After that, it’s just a bunch of crap about Brendan getting in trouble at school, and Colleen already loving her new teacher, and Mom saying the tomatoes here are terrible and having great strawberries and oranges doesn’t make up for it.
    I know what I want to write next, but I’m not sure if I should. In the newspaper the other day, there was a family special on baseball tickets to see the Angels. Even though they were playingCleveland, I told my dad it would still be great to go. He said he didn’t have time and I said that if Uncle Ryan were here he’d make time. “Well, Uncle Ryan isn’t here,” my dad said. I probably should’ve shut up about it right there because when he says something without looking at you he’s either not really listening or he’s trying not to get upset. “It’s not like it’s against the law to have fun in California,” I said, and that was it. I got an earful about how life isn’t fun and games all the time and if I thought it was, all I had to do was take a look at Uncle Ryan and I could see how that turned out for him. He stopped right there, real sudden, and looked at me like I’d just called him out at home when everyone else in the world could see he was safe. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.” He waited a second, said, “Let’s just not talk about Uncle Ryan, okay?” and then left the room.
    Uncle Ryan used to get an earful sometimes too, my dad telling him there’s a time to have fun and a time to grow up and isn’t it about time he grew up? I figure Uncle Ryan doesn’t need any more of that coming through me, so I leave out all the stuff about the ball game and what my dad said.
I wish you were here,
I write instead,
or that you could write back, but I’m pretty sure you